Junkmedia.org
includes this illuminating little gem in its August 28th offering:

"It's a sultry August evening in Hollywood, and an endless strand of traffic is melting into the horizon on Sunset Blvd. The usual mixed bag is loitering outside Amoeba Records. Inside the neon-littered white walls of the gigantic record store, the air-conditioned aisles are filling up with LA's hipster illuminati. It's only 7:15, but most here look as if they're ready for a late night out in the hipster dens of Silver Lake or Echo Park.

With an EP out in the UK and their debut due out on Virgin in September, Ima Robot is here to pay its final dues to the hometown crowd before, if everything goes as planned, the band is catapulted into the nebulous void of pop super-stardom. "I've been here before when bands were playing, and it always annoyed me because it made it really hard to shop," lead singer and head fashionista Alex Ebert remarks after the band's first song. "But now I look out and it's all my friends." Minutes later, Ebert is precariously perched ten feet above the concrete floor of the record store on a speaker that could easily topple into the crowd, introducing the singer's face to the "T" section of used vinyl. Straddling the speaker, Ebert appears more than cut out for what lies ahead for a band whose self-proclaimed goal is to "take over the world."

There's something to be said for aiming high, and the strategy may have paid off for Ima Robot. The story of their ascent is typical in many ways. After forming in 1997, the band put in its time on the ultra-competitive LA club circuit. Members came and went, but Ima Robot, it would seem, was perennially ahead of its time. According to Ebert, the band's early sound was very similar to its current blend of post-punk, glam and electro. And after hearing the in-the-moment sound of the band's EP, Public Access, and their forthcoming LP, Dynomite (sic), while it's hard to believe the band were that far ahead six years ag , it hardly matters at this point. The times have caught up to Ima Robot, and the group now finds itself in a whirlwind of pre-debut primping.

Ima Robot kicked off the maelstrom at their coming out party for the LA press at the Troubador this past June. The band looked confident, even comfortable, on stage as they charged through their set. Stacking their jagged punk verses next to soaring choruses worthy of Roxy Music, Ebert's vocal inflections and stage persona often recalled the theatrics of David Bowie. But a game of name that reference is futile, as Ima Robot moves effortlessly between decades of sound. Styles are mutant and fluid: glam-rock becomes electroclash; punk meshes with white-boy hop. Their debut album is an encyclopedic homage to the last thirty years of music, and the effect is dizzying.

On stage, it's Ebert -- always the showman -- who lends personality to the music. "It's like electrocution," says Alex. "It just moves me. It jerks me, it jolts me, and all I wanna do is really do it justice. If I'm doing something dangerous, it's coming from this dangerous moment that I'm feeling." Which would explain why, by the end of the band's set, Ebert was shirtless and out of breath, sweat dripping from his body. His mic stand had been stepped on and bent, and at one point he had to fight his own momentum to avoid tumbling into the crowd. The band left the stage triumphantly, leaving the industry-dominated crowd to collect their jaws from the floor.

A few weeks later, Ima Robot is in good spirits. With the promotional machine already in fifth gear, the band is on the patio at Alex's Laurel Canyon house, smoking Parliaments and reflecting on everything that's happened. Earlier in the day, the band did photo shoots for Nylon and Tokion, and they will be taking off for Japan the next day for yet more promotional junkets. Alex is on his cell phone, patiently answering the questions of a journalist while he paces back and forth. Tim Anderson, the group's crooked-haired guitar player, smiles underneath his Errol Flynn mustache and points to some limp gold balloons flapping lazily in the breeze. "We had my birthday party here a couple weeks ago, and those balloons used to spell my name." Empty Corona bottles are scattered around the patio.

After six years of dreaming, the band has plenty to celebrate. "This has been in our sights the whole time," Alex says later, after the rest of the band has left. "It's a dream come true," he continues, trailing into a long pause. For now, though, the band is in limbo. The album is finished; the interviews have been done, the photos have been taken, but there's another month before the next stage of the game. Ima Robot has been waiting a long time to take over the world, but for now the band must be patient. "We've always had the dream to take over, and we got that opportunity right now," Alex says later. "But it is a little bit of a mind-fuck. You know, you go to the movies and it's a fucking joke! Nothing's changed."

Robert Young
August 28, 2003